ROB GRONKOWSKI: FOOTLOOSE AND FANCY FREE

Rob Gronkowski has a passion for at least two things we are certain of: football and dancing.
Unfortunately for him, he only excels at one of them The All-Pro tight end of the New England showed up on TMZ.com again dancing like a clown on crack, bare from the belt buckle up,
his left arm in a cast, enjoying life in Vegas.

Last year, after the loss to the New York Giants in the Super Bowl, "Gronk" was caught on
camera dancing like a fool also. At least, Bill Belichick won't have to worry about Gronk
showing up on "Dancing With The Stars", because he looks like a drunken scarecrow on
the floor.

Gronk was criticized then and he's being harpooned now. Media critics and unofficial and
unpaid experts are shouting out loud that it's time for the 23-year old cult hero in Boston to
grow up. They say he has to think about the team and be a professional. I say, let the Gronk
be Gronk. His carefree style, outgoing personality, and performance on the field have already
made him a legend around New England. Does everybody on the team have to have the
personality of a cigar store Indian?

In three seasons, Gronk has caught 187 passes, with 38 of them going for touchdowns, the
most by a tight end in his first three seasons in the NFL. Everybody knows that a healthy
Gronkowski is a game-changer, trouble is, he hasn't been able to stay in the line-up and this
is one of the reasons why they feel it's time for Gronkowski to reign himself in.

Forget about that. People can moan all they want when Gronkowski doesn't produce, but
to criticize him for having some fun after the season is over is absolutely ridiculous. I realize
he has a broken arm and he's doing moves normally scene in the WWF or E or whatever
it's called these days, but let the kid be. What is he doing? Dancing? Please.

Seriously, how many NFL players have ever gotten hurt on the dance floor. Emmitt Smith,
Jerry Rice, and Donald Driver did pretty well and never got hurt through their countless hours practicing for "Dancing With The Stars" and a lot of their moves were more dangerous than Gronk's.

I realize Gronk has been a magnet for controversy off the field. There were the pictures on
Twitter of he and porn star Bibi Jones and he's photographed with his shirt off more than
Matthew McConaghey. But so what? I know he sometimes gets photographed out partying
with biking-clad women, but he's single and not pulling a Tiger Woods. Gronk is not showing
up on the police blotter or in celebrity rehab, either.

Man, Mickey Mantle used to have a great time when he played, too. The Yankees legend
chased woman and drank all night, but nobody had a problem with him when he was belting
50  home runs while driving in 120 every year.

It's not like Gronk is skydiving or trying to do 360's on a snowmobile in the X-games. He
is dancing. Big deal. Oh, I know all the folks in New England are calling for him to be
more professional and act "the Patriots Way". First of all, how has the "Patriots Way" been
doing since their last Super Bowl win in 2004? Oh, sure they win a lot of games, but they
haven't won anything in a long time. AFC Championships are for the Buffalo Bills to
revel in, not the Patriots.

Gronk is harmless and he is definitely entertaining. He's also a stud who has changed the
tight end position. Linebackers can't cover him and he opens up the passing game for
Tom Brady and the Patriots. They might have gotten to the Super Bowl if he didn't re-break
his arm. But injuries happen in the NFL, they rarely ever happen on the dance floor.

Gronk is living life and enjoying it. So what, what's wrong with that? Oh, right, every player
in the NFL is sitting on the couch just so they won't get hurt. Please. I know that Belichick
and Robert Kraft will tell Gronk to turn down the dial, but as long as he keeps producing
like he does on the field, I don't think they are going to demand he make any lifestyle changes.

The NFL is all about production. You either produce or you don't. It's that simple. Tim
Tebow can walk the straight and narrow, but that hasn't really helped him be productive,
has it?

Let Gronk be Gronk. He's living his life the way he wants. Just keep living yours the way
you want.

UNC BASEBALL IN 80'S: NICKNAME U

Major League Baseball is dressing down this weekend with their stunt of allowing players to
wear their nicknames on the back of their uniforms. Very interesting, but I don't think any of
the teams can match the nicknames of the UNC baseball teams more than 30 years ago.

The baseball program at UNC in the early 80's was like the Bronx Zoo South. It was crazy,
fun, and always entertaining. The team played hard, winning three consecutive ACC titles,
and laughed even harder. Every day was like "Animal House" and "Comedy Central" combined.
We were the  "idiots" long before Kevin Millar, Johnny Damon, and Manny Ramirez made it fashionable in Boston.

The clubhouse wasn't for the faint of heart, though. No matter what class you were in or how
well you performed on the field, you were open to teasing and  serious  abuse. It just came with
the territory back then.

I often joke with a  former teammate that if some of the stuff from back then happened in
today's  quick-trigger lawsuit and politically correct world, there would be arrests, payouts, and penalties from the NCAA. It went far beyond a PG-rating.

We were definitely a cast of characters loaded with talent, but also filled with an array of personalities from the strong to sophisticated, serious to the downright comical. And anyone
who came through the doors of the program, usually left with a nickname that stuck with them forever.

Everybody had a nickname, even the father of our coach, Mike Roberts. A 70-something man
who bore a striking resemblance to those California raisin caricatures, Mr. Roberts was "The
Bark Man".  Every time he talked, he sounded like a dog in heat with a muzzle on. Arrrr, arrrr,
arrrr, arrrr. "The Bark Man" name fit him to a T. He also owned a lumber company which had
a lot to do with it, too.

There wasn't a formal system for tagging people with nicknames the way they did in
"Animal  House." There wasn't a "Flounder" or an "Otter" and nobody asked why a certain
nickname was chosen. It was just because--- and it always stuck

Paul Will was a heavy-set first baseman from Newark, Delaware. Everything about him was big.
His legs, his gut, his head, and appetite were extra large.When he went though the line at the
training table, he supersized everything long before McDonald's made it part of its menu. He'd
fill a Vince  Wilfork-sized bowl with a  million fries. So, he became "Paul Will Bowl-of-Fries", which got shortened to bola fries, or just bola.

A few players had multiple nicknames. Doug Torborg, a lefty pitcher out of New Jersey,
looked like he was almost made of plastic. His hair was perfect and he spent a lot of time in
the mirror making sure he was all buttoned up. He became "Mr. Make Believe", which was
shortened to just "Make". Torborg got tagged quickly during orientation week when we played
baseball all day and drank at night. Torborg always complained that he felt like the "bed
was spinning" when he woke up the next day. So, of course, he became known as "bed spins."
Not Doug, not Torborg, but "bed spins."

Jon O'Leary, a barrel-chested outfielder who was one of the best batting practice hitters in the
history of college baseball, got stuck with a few nicknames he wasn't too enamoured with.
O'Leary minored in baseball at UNC but majored in eating. If it wasn't nailed down, Johnny O
ate it. He was known as "Snackbar McPortals" or "Johnny Canteen". Whenever we approached a
Shoney's restaurant on a road trip, Mike Jedziniak would yell out "There he goes!" as O'Leary
made a b-line to the front of the bus to make sure he was first in the buffet line. There wasn't
much left for anyone else after Johnny Canteen was finished loading up his plate. O'Leary once
complained to Jedziniak about his nickname and Jedz responded, "Too bad, that's what we're
calling you."

Chris Mench was usually the master of the monikers, tagging anybody in his path with creative
and often unflattering nicknames. Mench was known as "The Big Cheese". His head was the
size of pony keg. If you tapped it, suds would probably come flowing out. But the size of his
head had nothing to do with his nickname. He called himself the "Big Cheese" and I'll just
leave it at that. Most of the nicknames the "Big Cheese" gave out were X-rated, which
unfortunately, means I can't put them in print.

My favorite nickname of all-time was "Yard Bird". This was given to Mitch McCleney, a
second-baseman who spent at least six, possibly seven years in the program. Somebody
thought he looked like a yard bird, so McCleney became known simply as, "Yard Bird."

Al Taylor, a popular teammate from Natick, Mass. had a plethora of nicknames. He was
"Grinch", "Slate", and "Sack Exchange." Bill Robinson, a tall, lanky pitcher from New Jersey
was the "black momba" long before Kobe Bryant showed up on the scene. Robinson was also
known as "Snake", "Bridge" and "Q-tip" after the tiny head that rested atop his broad shoulders.

Walt Weiss, the former manager of the Colorado Rockies, also had a very small dome. His head
was so tiny and shaped like a peanut that he had to tape the adjustable strap on his hat to make it
small enough so it would say on. Weiss became known as "The Peanut Man."

Jeff Hubbard, a talented third baseman, who was a cross between Tom Sellick and the Marlboro
man, only knew four people on the team. They included B.J. Surhoff, Walt Weiss, Jedziniak, and
Nora, the smoking-hot team trainer. Funny thing, Hubbard never had a problem remembering her
name. Everybody else to him was either "Yo", "Dude", and "Hey".

During one game, Hubbard, who drove around campus in a Porsche 911, was trying to get
the attention of a freshman pitcher he never even noticed before. He turned to Weiss at
shortstop and  asked, "What's this guy's name?" Weiss didn't know either so Hubbard, known
as "Marv" after  the Oakland Raiders fullback, yelled out, "Hey, Butch". And a new nickname
was born. Ken Turner became forever known as "Butch." Not sure if anybody ever even
knew his real name. He was just "Butch."

There were other classic nicknames like, "Minnow man", "Mushroom," "Lid", "Hawks",
"Jar head", "Thermometer", "Black Bird", "Newborn," and "Crow." There are many others,
but Father Time has sapped a bit of my memory and I've forgotten more than a few of the
classic other ones that existed.

Look around major league baseball, and you'll notice that great nicknames have pretty much
become extinct. Oh, sure, there was A-Rod, A-Gone, and A-Hole, but those took no effort and
lack creativity.

Great ones were part of UNC program during the 1980's and it sure made for some rip-roaring
funny times.

BILL BELICHICK: THE NFL'S BIGGEST LOSER

Class guy. Those two words have never followed Bill Belichick. Not in New

York. Not in Cleveland. Not even in New England where he turned the Patriots

into a model franchise. 

Belichick can be condescending, insincere, and to  many people who have

covered him during his NFL career, the word prick often applies. On Sunday night,

many viewers uttered that word after James Brown of CBS said that Belichick 

declined a request by the network for a post-game interview. It was classic 

Belichick, who earned his sore loser reputation long ago.

Last year, after the Patriots lost to the New York Giants in the Super Bowl,
Belichick gave NBC the Johnny Heisman stiff arm when they asked for an
interview. Then when he went to the mandatory press conference, Belichick
gave one word answers and the impression that he'd much rather go
through a round of water boarding torture at Abu Ghraib, then be forced
to sit through a media session where he was peppered with questions about
the game.

After losing to the New York Giants in the Super Bowl in February of 2008,
Belichick headed to the locker room with seconds to go in the game and
didn't bother to shake the hand of Tom Coughlin. Classic Belichick.

Belichick is one of the best coaches in the history of the game, but unlike
Tom Landry, Chuck Knoll, and Don Shula, class or graciousness are not
part of his DNA. I understand that he hates to lose, who doesn't. But his
repeated boorish behavior is getting old. The Hoodie wins more than 70
percent of his games, but when he loses, watch out.

He becomes like the petulant child who just saw the neighborhood bully
steal all his toys from the sandbox. Whaaaaaaaaa. He sulks, doesn't sob,
but makes like somebody just sucked the life out of not just him, but
the entire world.

If you talk to the folks in Cleveland who covered Belichick during his
days with the Browns, they'll probably tell you that Belichick is Lance
Armstrong without the lies, EPO, testosterone or cortisone. He treated a
lot of people badly and made a lot of lives miserable.

I'll never forget my first experience with Belichick during the early 90's. I
was a pup cameraman who was shooting one of his press conferences after
another Browns loss. A local reporter asked Belichick about blowing a
fourth-quarter lead and BB responded, "F&*K you, Jason." That one is hard
to forget. It was my welcome to the NFL moment.

I covered Belichick and the Patriots during the 2005-2006 season when they
rarely lost. But when they did, Belichick made like he was about to be led
to the cross with a thorn wreath around his head. Just an unpleasant guy,
but then again, that's how he was after winning, too.

I admire and respect Belichick for what he has done as a coach. He is pure
coaching genius. I get that. He gets paid to win games, I understand that. I
realize that the decaying of our society began a long, long time go and words
like class, dignity, and respect don't mean all that much anymore. But Bill,
you win all the time. I understand you're not always that happy in victory,
but please, try to show just a little class and graciousness in defeat. Nobody
wins all the time, not even you.

I AM A STEROID

I am a steroid. Roger Clemens says I don't help with throwing a baseball. The
Rocket is partially right. Anyone who gets to the Major Leagues has great mechanics
and knows how to throw one. I help in throwing it harder, faster, and longer. Do
you really think Clemens could throw 95-miles hour at the age of 44 without me?

I am a steroid and I can create jealousy. Barry Bonds saw all the attention Mark
McGwire and Sammy Sosa received during the Summer of '98 when they were
launching missiles into orbit and baseball immortality. That's when he started to
be my best friend. He had never hit more than 49 home runs in his career, but I
helped him hit a ridiculous 73 of them in 2001.

I am a steroid. Use me correctly and I can help you recover faster. Former Los
Angeles Dodgers closer Eric Gagne converted a record 84 consecutive save
opportunities. Do you really think he could've come back from throwing 95-mile
hour fastballs day after day without my help?

I am a steroid. I turn line drive hitters into local legends. In 2001, Luis Gonzalez
hit 52 home runs, now keep in mind, Hank Aaron never hit more than 44 in
a season. I know Aaron, and Gonzo is no Hammerin' Hank. The former Arizona
Diamondback said his new found power came as result of a stretching program.
Really? Stretching? And Rafael Palmeiro said his failed drug test came as a
result of a tainted B-12 shot injected by teammate Miquel Tejada. LOL

I am a steroid. I can extend your career and help you post amazing numbers.
Willie Mays hit 81 home runs after the age of 38. Barry Bonds belted 149 after
the same age. Damn, I am good!

I am a steroid. There will be side effects when you friend me. I put a bad case
of acne on Mike Piazza's back, while instilling thunder in his bat. The kid was
a 60-something round draft choice out of college with little power. He finished
his career with the most home runs of any catcher in the history of the game.
Any questions?

I am a steroid. Sports writers hate me. They say I cheated the game and made
the most sacred of records, worthless. Most of them will tell you I actually helped
save the game with the McGwire-Sosa home run duel in 1998, but now they
don't want me anywhere near it.

On Wednesday, they made a big statement by not letting some of best my friends
into the Hall of Fame. Some of them will get there eventually, just not now.

BILL O'BRIEN DOES THE RIGHT THING

Let's face it, the world of college football has become one giant money grab.
Schools play hop scotch across the country to join the super conference that
will line their pockets with mega million. Coaches are always looking for that
next springboard to launch them into the highest tax bracket in America.
Loyalty? Forget about that. It disappeared about the same time acid washed
jeans and Members Only jackets got flushed down the drain.

However, in a fraternity that's filled with leaders like Lane Kiffin, who have
dollar signs in their eyes and little else, Bill O'Brien showed that some
integrity still exists. After leading Penn State out of the worst scandal in college
sports history, O'Brien was a hot commodity for the NFL's coaching carousel.
He managed to squeeze eight wins out of a team that few believed could even
win a single game.

O'Brien interviewed with the Cleveland Browns, a franchise desperate for
a winner and probably eager to open up the checkbook to give O'Brien
whatever it took for him to leave Happy Valley for the valley of heartbreak
and 12-loss seasons. O'Brien said thanks, but no thanks.

The lure of a monster contract and the NFL was tempting, but for O'Brien,
there was more to life than coaching on Sundays. Loyalty mattered. So did
his word.

When the NCAA tagged Penn State with unprecedented sanctions, O'Brien
had to execute he biggest sales job since the Marlins convinced the city of
Miami to fund a stadium. Oh, yeah, they'd even put the name "Miami"
across the front of their uniforms in exchange for about $400 million.
O'Brien's job was much tougher than the con Jeff Loria and company
pulled on South Beach.

The NCAA gave every player at Penn State a free pass. They allowed
them to transfer to any school they prefereed without being forced to
sit out a year which is required of all transfers. Nine players left, including
Silas Redd,  a preseason All-American running back, who had a BCS
championship on his mind when he bolted for USC.

O'Brien convinced everyone else to stay and help Penn State out of the
cess pool it had launched themselves into, thanks to Jerry Sandusky, Joe
Paterno, and an administration that chose to look the other way rather
than save little children from a sexual predator. O'Brien talked of
commitment, dedication, and integrity.

So when the NFL came calling, he had to walk the walk. He talked the
talk last summer when he told his players not to be sellouts and leave
Penn State behind. He pleaded with them to be part of something special.
Taking the easy way out was an option, but staying and playing through
adversity would be far more rewarding.

O'Brien walked the walked. He lived by his law and did the right thing.
To leave after one year and a bigger paycheck would have gone against
everything he had preached to his players. If he had gone to the NFL,
O'Brien would've been perceived as a bigger sellout than Lane Kiffin,
who left Tennesse after boatloads of promises and just one season
in Knoxville.

There are plenty of rich coaches in college football. Bill O'Brien is one
of them, but he has something most of the others don't. Integrity.

PAY IT FORWARD. HELP OUT THE CLYDE FAMILY.

I don't know the Clyde family, but that really doesn't matter. What does matter is that
they  could use a little help. On December 27, they came home in Holliston,
Massachusetts to find it gutted by fire. Faulty heating equipment in the basement
ignited the flames and destroyed their home.

The Clyde's were extremely lucky that the blaze didn't bring down their house while
they were asleep. But now they must deal with the shocking and stark reality of starting
a big part of their life over from scratch. Nearly everything they owned was torched by
the flames. Priceless photos, family keepsakes, clothes, computers, files, and records.
and every Christmas present left under the tree, gone. You name it, it went up in flames.
I can't imagine the feeling of waking up the morning after the nightmare and saying,
"What the hell do we do now?" Trying telling your two young kids that everything
is going to be all right when deep down inside that just getting to being "all right"
is a long, long, ways away.

I'm sure it was much like the state of emotions the people in New Jersey and parts
of New York experience after Hurricane Sandy rinsed away everything they had.
Think about what an inconvenience it was not having power for a week where you were
challenged in trying to getting a shower to and your next meal. Now imagine attempting
to do that when you have just the clothes on your back.

Losing a home is a life-changing tragedy. A person's will and resolve are stretched
to its limits and the emotional scars take a significant time to heal. A lot of people
often ask, "Won't insurance take car of them?" Yes, it will, but as many of us know,
insurance doesn't cover everything and one doesn't always get reimbursed quickly
And it's not like the AFLAC duck swoops in, hands a family a wad of cash to get
by, quacks AFFFLAACK! And then leaves. It's not that simple.

The good will and spirit of the Holliston community and the surrounding areas
took over and helped the Clydes get back on their feet. Donations came in the
form of clothes, gift and meal cards. The gesture overwhelmed the Clydes
and they are very thankful.

But they still need help and I'm writing this story to help "pay it forward." When
people are in dire situations and in need of a hand, hug, or a hundred dollars,
we've seen a lot of people in this country become very generous. More than
$400 million was raised for Hurricane Sandy victims. Millions of dollars poured
into the the fund for the families of the Newtown tragedy. There were stories of
children breaking their piggy banks to send a few dollars to help out the families
who lost children as young as themselves.

This story touched me because Mike Clyde works at NESN where I was employed
for two years from 2004-2006. It's a great and wonderful place where I have great
memories and met truly amazing people. John Martin, Pat Gamere, Chris Del Dotto,
Paul Scannell, Gary Roy, Brian Zechello, and Peter Morton are among the many
special people who work there. I've been told Mike is a great guy, too. Please
help him and his family with a little act of kindness.

Donate something to the Clydes. It's a great feeling when you know you're
helping others who are in crisis or less fortunate. Send $10 or more to help
out the Clyde's. Give up a week of Starbucks coffee to help their cause. It
truly is much better to give than receive. Follow the golden rule on this one
and do one to others as you'd want others to do to you.

There is a Facebook page for the Clydes. Check out there story. Make a
small donation. You'll be glad that you did.

https://www.facebook.com/LovingTheClydeFamily

NEWTOWN: STUPIDITY FOLLOWS TRAGEDY

Newtown, Connecticut wants to grieve and try to recover, but it just can't. Every

time it moves an inch towards clearing a small hurdle on the road to normalcy,

somebody drives a stake into the gaping wound the entire community suffered

on December 14. 

The people in that quaint, New England town appreciate the well-wishes that have 

come from around the world, but they don't want their tragedy to turn into the 

longest-running sympathy sideshow there has ever been. Unfortunately, the stupidity

of others is preventing that from happening.

On Thursday, the Stamford Advocate, a newspaper circulated less than 30 miles

from the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School, ran an article about the opening

of the new Sandy Hook Elementary School. Trouble was, the paper tagged a  rather
large advertisement for an upcoming fire arms show in  Stamford, on the same page
right next to it. That's right, 26 people were killed by an arsenal of weapons, but be
sure to see the East Coast Fire Arms Show on January 5th and 6th!

Really? How stupid and insensitive can you be? They could've run that promotion
on any of the other 120 pages of the newspaper, but it runs next to an article
dealing with one of the worst shootings in school history? Paul Osmundson, editor
of the Stamford Advocate, in the understatement of the year, called it, a "terrible
mistake."

Oh, I'm sure someone will try to blame it on a miscommunication, being overworked,
or perhaps, ADD. Whatever. None it is going to fly. Mistakes happen, I know, I've
made a ton of them. But how the hell does anyone make a mistake like that?

Jean Henry, a staffer on the state of Connecticut medical exam team made a mistake
by letting her husband view the dead body of gunman, Adam Lanza. Yep, Henry
called her husband into what essentially became a crime lab to look at the the guy
who shot and killed 20 small children and seven adults, including his mother. She
showed him off and seemed to be proud of it. Good, grief. Reports surfaced on
Thursday that  Henry was placed on administrative leave. How do you think the
parents of all those dead felt after reading that? Haven't they endured enough?

I thought enough was enough when I saw that Irv Pinsky, a New Haven-based
lawyer, filed a lawsuit against the state on behalf of the parents of a child who was
lucky enough to survive the massacre. Pinsky claimed the state was negligent for
not protecting his client against "foreseeable harm."  He even put a figure on it to
the tune of $100 million. How insensitive and how utterly stupid is that?

Did Pinsky think he was going to gain sympathy or accolades from the public for
representing a child and parents who were "traumatized" by the shooting? Two
weeks after the unspeakable tragedy, Pinsky and his clients seemingly wanted to
run to the front of the line to make sure they get "theirs" first.

Folks from around the country let Pinsky know how they felt, showering him
with about 50 death threats, according to him. Pinsky withdrew the lawsuit in
order to "calm the divisiveness and tremors." Yeah, the ones you caused by your
own stupidity. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Can't everyone just let Newtown grieve. Can't we all just let them be.